


'cause love now is only the pain of needing

by safeandsound13



Series: we knew we'd get there someday [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, bellamy being a sad bitch, i got a lil into my own belltavia feelings there for a second apologies for that, im so proud of myself, literally had to google 'positive adjectives' to find s/t to describe her, mostly hes just in love with clarke and it hurts, no active echo bashing i tried to stay in character, tatbilb inspired, the demon possessed me for a sec i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-01-25 15:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18577732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandsound13/pseuds/safeandsound13
Summary: 06.01.2150 - 05:36 AMUser-ID: B. BlakeFile 09_38487-MKIt's me again. I decided to give this — whatever it is — another try.It's been about four months now, since we left Earth. Since we left Clarke behind. I left Clarke behind.I've been having trouble sleeping. Eating, too, but that doesn't make me special up here. Monty's trying his hardest, but it's difficult to variate with one single ingredient. I can't concentrate. I'm jumpy and I feel like I'm five seconds away from screaming at someone all the time.I need to get some stuff off my chest, and — and Raven politely suggested that if I won't talk to them, a video diary might help. I don't want to talk about any of that, though. I don't want to think about it. Not anymore. Every time I close my eyes — I see everything happen all over again.Or: Bellamy tries an inventive way of therapy during his time on the Ark. TATBILB, but the 100 style. So, dead and torture and pain.





	'cause love now is only the pain of needing

**Author's Note:**

> not gonna lie it's kind of hard writing these s6 spec crack fics when i blocked out almost the entirety of s5 out of self-preservation, just cannot lie. the lack of flavour that one had, the trauma. would not recommend -1/10.
> 
> anyway. i made it. here's sum of that angst y'all like so much. just want them to kiss. its so hard to write from bellamys pov hes such a soft lil bitch i love him so much yeah im a bellamy blake supremacist and what about it?
> 
> to clarify: videos were made pre-s5. this takes place post s5, pre-s6.

* * *

**05.31.2150**

**05:21 AM**

**User-ID: B. Blake**

**File 09_85390-AD**

_Hey._

_Hi._

_This is stupid. I'm talking to myself._

* * *

**06.01.2150**

**05:36 AM**

**User-ID: B. Blake**

**File 09_38487-MK**

_It's me again. I decided to give this — whatever it is — another try._

_It's been about four months now, since we left Earth. Since we left Clarke behind. I left Clarke behind._

_I've been having trouble sleeping. Eating, too, but that doesn't make me special up here. Monty's trying his hardest, but it's difficult to variate with one single ingredient. I can't concentrate. I'm jumpy and I feel like I'm five seconds away from screaming at someone all the time._

_It's hard to talk to anyone up here. When I can barely look them in the eye. I look at Raven and I see the faces of 320 innocent people on the Ark, gasping for air, going to sleep and never waking up. I look at Murphy, and I see him hanging from that tree, how far I was willing to go. I look at Harper and I see Cage Wallace drilling her for bone marrow, how I couldn't get to all of of them on time. I look at Emori and I see all those grounders; those warriors, Indra, bleeding out. I look at Monty and I see Jasper, I see 350 people burning to death, Maya, all the people who trusted me. I look at — I look at_ Echo  _and I see Gina. I see all of their faces. All of the blood on my hands. It never stops._

_[...]_

_I need to get some stuff off my chest, and — and Raven_ politely  _suggested that if I won't talk to them, a video diary might help. I don't want to talk about any of that, though. I don't want to think about it. Not anymore. Every time I close my eyes — I see everything happen all over again._

_There's so much I would change - I would do differently, I would say differently. Things I never did or said that I wanted to. Maybe by saying some of these things out loud I can stop the endless cycle in my head from repeating all of it over and over again._

_Maybe._

* * *

Bellamy can feel it the second he walks into the mess hall for breakfast — muffy smell of algae making his stomach churn (he misses a lot of things about the first time they were up in space, but it's not the food) — feels their eyes on him. All of them, people whose names he doesn't know, whispers under their breath, avoiding his gaze with shifty eyes.

He doesn't know what's on his face, what so-called heroic story about him Madi preached to the other kids last night, or what kind of elaborate incredibly unfunny prank Murphy was pulling this time, but regardless, it is way too early for this.

Bellamy has to clench his jaw as he gets in line for a meal, Keep It Comin' Love from some ancient band playing softly over the speakers, one of maybe the six songs Monty managed to recover from the old Ark over the years. If he didn't already hate the overplayed song out of principle, he would now. He's not really in the mood.

After getting his quote, unquote 'food', Bellamy slouches down in a seat across from Raven, making sure his back is facing most of the room, his whole posture tense. He's trying to rack his brain, through the early morning fog, trying to see if there's something he forgot, but comes up short.

"What the hell is their problem?" He mutters under his breath, maybe slamming his spoon down beside his tray a little  _too_  loudly because it catches the attention of a few random onlookers.

Unconsciously, he runs a hand over his beard, just to check if there's nothing stuck on there. There could be something written on his forehead, he hardly bothers with a mirror these days, but he's sure if that was the case Raven would've laughed in his face about it by now.

And, Raven, she looks far from laughter, familiar dimple above her brow.

"You didn't see it?" The brunette snorts, unimpressed and unamused, licking her white plastic spoon clean with an instant regretful grimace taking over her face. He guesses Raven didn't miss their mandatory dietary constrictions either.

It's been three weeks since they woke up. One day until a select few people set foot on the new planet Monty and Harper found them. Before they — he still doesn't like to think about it.

"See what?" He asks, half-hearted, distractedly stabbing his spoon into the green gooey drab on his tray. When he looks up, he catches the eye of some young boy not even trying to hide the fact he's openly staring at him for no apparent reason. So Bellamy glares at him, which helps.

Raven chokes down a weird noise, shaking her head to herself as she presses, overly casual, "Nothing special."

Something feels off. Shaw slides into the chair beside her, pressing his mouth to her temple in greeting. She smiles his way, then turns back to Bellamy dryly, hands folding together on top of the table. She pauses dramatically — which is kind of his thing, and proves they spent way too much time together — then finally tells him, "It's just that your special little personal therapy sessions were broadcast on the mass comm system throughout the whole ship?"

Like he needs any further clarification and his head isn't already spinning from disbelief, his mouth dry, his heart slamming loudly against his ribcage, she pushes, "For  _everyone_ to see basically?"

It kind of feels like he's part of this conversation in somebody else's body. Like he's there, but he's not  _actually_ there, removed from the situation all together. Bellamy just blinks at her, trying to wrap his head around it. "My what?"

"Your love letters to Clarke?" Zeke cuts in with a pleased smirk on his face, then winces — Bellamy barely registers Raven's elbow moving back on top of the table — trying to cover it up with a cough.

Bellamy looks from Raven to Shaw and back to Raven, a tiny layer of sweat starting to cover his skin. His brain is shortcutting, spoon stuck mid air, his chest feeling tight — like there's no air able to get in or out and it's about to combust from all the pressure building up — and he feels dangerously close to breaking out in laughter. He forces himself to inhale sharply through his nose —  _it can't be_ — turning to look over his shoulder, trying to read the rest of the room. Fuck.

He turns back to Raven, feeling hot all over, checks Shaw's expression before staring down at his tray with a furrowed brow. Without realizing it's even happening his spoon snaps in half, algae messily dripping down his hand.

"I never —" he starts, voice rough, pulse rattling in his throat, but Raven cuts him off with a glare. Fuck. She's mad at him. He's mad at himself. He's mad at her, too, for making him sit in front of a camera and talk about his feelings. Zeke clears his throat awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Look, man, it wasn't too bad."

He sounds stupidly sincere but all Bellamy can think about is that if  _everyone_  saw — that means — it means she saw as well. That piece of information turns out to be the final straw as he pushes his chair back abruptly, the legs screeching over the metal floor before it clatters to the ground loudly. Great. Just what he needed —  _more_  attention.

"I —" He starts, not sure what to say.  _I need some air._  Which is fucking hilarious, because he is stuck on a spaceship, nowhere to go, nowhere to run. The room spins. Finally, he settles on, "I have to leave."

He turns on his heels, just as Raven says, "Hey, don't float yourself!" Fucking brat.

"Rave," he can just make out her boyfriend hissing, stern, but of course she isn't too bothered by it, calling after Bellamy about some stupid fucking bet he lost hundred of years ago,  _literally_  ancient history by now. "You still owe me thirty surprise push-ups!"

He couldn't care less about a bet, or the people staring at him, the things he thought —  _said_ — those private things, they were never supposed to become public. They were supposed to be destroyed, lost forever, never to be seen again.

See, their entire time on earth — the first time — they never stopped running. He never had the time to stand still and think about all the things that happened, all the things he did. Then when he went up to space, there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nowhere to escape. He was forced to confront everything all at once. It sucked. The videos helped, back then, but now he was certain they were a mistake. A big one. He would've gladly emotionally tortured himself for the entire six years if meant preventing — preventing  _this_.

He finds himself escaping out onto the bridge, where it's quiet and he can sink down on the floor with his hands in his hair and pretend none of this is a big deal. Not when, if he shifts his head, he can look down at the new planet with two suns and second chances and fresh starts, and remind himself there's bigger, more important things out there.

(Then why does he still feel like dying?)

* * *

**09.08.2150**

**02:34 PM**

**User-ID: B. Blake**

**File 06_93404-GF**

_Lux. You were my first kiss._

_You liked my stupid stories about the ancient history books and the impossibility of them. You told me you liked my smile, that you liked to make me laugh. I liked your braids, the way your hands would get clammy when you held mine. No one ever gave me the time of day before. Especially not someone from Alpha Station. You didn't know about my mom_ —  _who she was, what she did_ —  _and certainly not Octavia, but you still treated me the same. Somehow that seemed like a big deal back then._

_It wasn't very good, was it? Our kiss? I'm sorry for that. Truly, I wish I knew what the hell I was doing. But I was twelve, and feeling brave, and I didn't realize what would happen if your dad walked in. If he started yelling about my mother. If he grabbed you by the shoulder so roughly my eyes stung. What would happen if he told you you were never allowed to see me again._

_But I wish you'd just let me talk to you one more time. That maybe then — I wouldn't have blamed_ everything  _on Alpha Station, I could be convinced you weren't all bad. You just made it so easy._

* * *

He doesn't know how long he sits there before someone sinks down beside him. He doesn't have to look over to know it's Octavia. After all this time, all this separation, all this hurt — he can still feel her presence from across the room, like it's an instinct he can't get rid of, a curse, to constantly be aware of her. Even when he doesn't want to be.

Her bare shoulder brushes his as she leans her elbows on her drawn up knees, clasped hands dangling off her legs. It's quiet for another moment, then she speaks. "So this is bad."

"I know," he replies, eyes dully fixated on the window in front of them. As he lets out a deep breath, he realizes it's not as heavy between them as he thought it would be. It's not light, not by far, but it's different, than before. Like somehow one and a quarter century of nothing brought things into perspective.

He hears her mouth open, breath hitching in the back of her throat, and when he shifts his head to look at her she closes it, lips pressed together tightly, and he guesses not much has changed after all since the last time they spoke. She never used to bite her tongue around him, because she knew he could take it, would accept anything she threw at him, would always forgive her. They're both painfully aware that's no longer the case.

Octavia clears her throat, softly, something he didn't know she could still be. Soft. "Did you mean it?"

He inhales sharply, reaching up to scrub a hand over his face. He figures there's no way of getting out of this now. Today already sucks, and he knows it's only going to get worse, so he might as well. Talk to her.

"I said I didn't know who I was without you," he starts, carefully, eyes darting everywhere as he tries to collect his thoughts. "I allowed myself to change, to adapt, without you, without everyone, but I haven't given you the same courtesy."

He tried to follow Clarke's advice. To not just use his heart. For the first time since he was six years old, he had to trust his sister could take care of herself. He had to reinvent himself entirely. Everyday up there was a struggle, especially the last year when desperation started to settle in and Raven couldn't find a way to get them down. Everybody looked to him. He had to change. He had to become stronger. He had to use his head. That's what he did.

It's quiet, so quiet, he can hear her swallow thickly. She doesn't say anything, wringing her hands together as she stares out of the window, vacant look on her face.

It's what she had to do as well. It doesn't change what she did. It doesn't change that he looks at her now and he feels like he failed. That he couldn't protect her. That some part of her died, and getting back who she was is impossible. That they're irreparable.

"I understand that you did what you had to do to survive. I do," he tells her, shifting his head to finally look at her.  _Who we are and who need to be survive_. She doesn't turn to face him, but he can see her breaths are starting to come in quicker, more erratic. "I just don't recognize my sister in you."

"I get that," she admits weakly, tongue darting out to wet her dry, cracked lips, still not even glancing over at him. Her choppy brown hair frames her face, so bare, so young, without the warpaint, the blood, the bruises. "Sometimes, I don't recognize myself either. I feel empty." She lifts her shoulders, defeated, shaking her head lightly to herself, her gaze glazy. "I've felt empty for a long time now."

His heart breaks in his chest, sharp edges ripping him right open. He raised her. He knows who she is better than he knows himself. She's part of him, always will be. He was always so afraid that the worst in him would someday become the worst in her. He still is. It's hard to believe that's not what happened. To see her in agony, so broken and despaired — it kills him. It always will.

A tear falls down her cheek slowly, making no move to wipe it away, her voice raspy. "It's easier. Seeing Blodreina as a different person. To separate myself from her, to disassociate." She takes in a shaky breath, another tear trailing down the side of her nose, dripping onto her black halter top, a dark spot blooming on her collarbone. "But I can't — I can't drown out the memories of what she does, what she did, no matter how hard I try."

"I'm sorry, Octavia. For what you had to do for your people," he breaks in, feeling his own eyes start to sting, his resolve faltering. "I was trying so hard to be someone without you. When I came down and saw what you became — it was easier to wish you dead, to wish that old part of me dead too, easier then to recognize the part I played in it." He shakes his head lightly, clenching his jaw to keep from actually losing it. "You were just a girl when I left. You still are."

"I'm sorry that I blamed you for what happened with Lincoln," her voice breaks on his name, her eyes darting around wildly. She looks like a full on mess now, probably a mirror image of himself, fat tears dripping down her chin. "I'm sorry I didn't listen. I didn't understand. I didn't know how hard it was for you until — until I had Wonkru. Until they were my responsibility."

_My responsibility._  He sniffs, wiping at the wetness under his eyes with the pad of his thumb, then chuckles, whole body shaking. This is the craziest fucking day he's ever had. Their lives are fucking crazy. They went 125 years into the future. They found a new planet. He can't look at his sister without wanting to cry. He couldn't. Now he can, he thinks.

"Look at us," she laughs through the tears, watery, her shoulder shaking against his with every sob, an almost delirious glint in her eyes, "We're pathetic."

He shares her laughter, feeling the weight of the world drop off his shoulder, relishing in the happy sounds she's making, that he gets to hear those again, until the air gets a little heavier between them again, and it fades to a simple grin. They're not okay, far from, but they will be. He knows they will be.

Bellamy leans back against the wall, Octavia tentatively dropping her head to rest her temple against his shoulder. It's quiet for another moment. She clears her throat lightly. "What are you going to tell her?"

He's not even sure who she is talking about. His head rolls to the side, her hair tickling his cheek as he lets out a deep sigh. Either way — "I don't know."

 

* * *

**03.17.2151**

**07:18 PM**

**User-ID: B. Blake**

**File 02_11348-BC**

_Octavia._

_In many ways, you were my first love. You were my whole life from the moment you were born. I never felt so much responsibility, so much love for one person in my life. I didn't know it was possible to love someone else as much as I loved you. I thought babies were stupid. You just slept, and cried, and you couldn't even talk, but even at six years old I would've done anything_ — anything  _to protect you. The girl under the floor. The first person to set foot on earth after 97 years. My sister._

_For the longest time, me and mom were the only people you knew. Then she died, because of me, and suddenly I was_  all  _you knew. It was hard for me to let go of that, to let you make your own decisions and mistakes. I was petrified. I didn't know if you could take it, that you were strong enough, after having been so sheltered for so long, after having me to fall back on for everything._ _I loved you so much that I didn't realize I was suffocating you._

_And I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. For making you feel like_ —  _like I was no longer the person you knew. That I was no longer the brother you knew. Maybe it was an ego thing, maybe I was selfish, maybe I'm just fucked up, I don't know. I deserved everything you said to me, everything you did to me, but the truth is…_

_The truth is, that, w_ _ithout you, I don't know who I am. I'm trying to find out._

_But I do know one thing, and that's we'll meet again. Someday. You're a survivor. From the second you were born. You were so angry, your cheeks pink from screaming. You wouldn't stop kicking your legs, wouldn't let go of my finger. You had such a deathgrip. Not many people would've survived a life under the floor for as long as you did. You were strong. I just didn't always see it. Maybe I didn't want to. Maybe I wanted you to be the girl under the floor for as long as possible, safe. [...] That wasn't fair to you. I'm sorry._

_I will always be on your side, O. I miss you. You know this is the longest we've ever been apart? Hmfph. I wish you were here to call me pathetic for crying, by myself, in front of a camera._

* * *

"So I tell you about the radio calls and you don't have the decency to tell me about your  _videos_?" Madi tsks, finding him in the hallway. He's on the way to his quarters after he finally managed to drag himself off the floor, figuring maybe a shower could do him some good. Clear his head. "I feel so betrayed."

He raises his eyebrows, distracted, nodding at Emori in greeting as they pass her in the hallway, box of tools lodged in her hand. She just grimaces. He loves his friends. "Well, it makes you feel any better, I was trying to forget about those myself."

Madi smiles, secretive, hands locked behind her back as she tries to match his pace. "Aren't you going to ask for my permission?"

Bellamy frowns, focused on his feet as he tries to process her words. "For what?"

"She's my mom," Madi presses, pushing a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. A teasing smirk forms on her lips slowly. " _And_  I'm your commander."

He makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat — she's actually pretty funny, for a twelve year old — scratching at his temple with his pointer finger. "My commander, huh?"

"You were there when they put the flame in my head."

"Yeah, I guess I was," he says, neutral, coming to a stop in front of his door. He still thinks what he did was right, but he never had the thing in his head himself, so maybe he doesn't have all the information. She seems fine, though, Madi.

"You know," Madi muses, faux-innocently, "Clarke always tells me that sometimes good people have to do bad things in order to survive."

It's not completely fair. He gets the point she is trying to make, but his history with her mom is complicated. Right now he's trying to think of  _anything_  else. Sure, Madi was in danger but she didn't  _have_  to leave him, she was just angry with him. She wanted to hurt him like he'd hurt her. Betrayed her trust. "You mean leaving me behind to die?"

She tilts her head, as if giving him the win, then just as smoothly and swiftly responds, "And you giving the flame to a twelve year old."

He huffs, humoured, tugging on one of her braids. "I wasn't wrong. It gave you all this wisdom, didn't it?"

Right now, it's hard to believe Madi ever did anything but lead all of their people. It's strange. She's young and old at the same time. She reminds him a lot of her mom.

Her voice is deliberately innocuous, lifting a shoulder indifferently as she concludes, simply, "It's not about right or wrong. I think you'd agree forgiveness is more important than being right. It's not easy — it's painful — but it's the strongest form of love that exists. "

She stares up at him with her big blue eyes. They're not innocent, far from, but they're hopeful. Something he thinks he lost a long time ago. She smirks, taunting, and  _God,_  she must've given her mom hell back on earth. "I think in ancient times, people even wrote entire books about it."

He grins, slow, as her words process in his head, matching to the right thoughts, feelings, memories, locked away somewhere tightly. Quietly, he asks, "Is that something your mom told you, too?"

Maybe he got lost in the semantics somewhere along the way. Of being good or bad, right or wrong. Afraid of being hurt again, of not doing what she asked him to so long ago. When it always came to the same thing: did the light still beat out the darkness? Could he still put everything aside and give it to her, like she did for him a lifetime ago? A moment he owes his life to. How far was too far? He's not sure there was ever a finish line in sight with her. Not with her.

"No. One of the voices inside my head." She tries to hide her smile. "Voices you—"

"Yeah, yeah. I put there," Bellamy cuts her off, laughing fondly, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder, pulling and pushing on it softly. "You're pretty smart, you know that?"

"Of course I am," she boasts, proud, and he guesses she's right, considering who her mom is. She points her thumb over her shoulder, which is  _coincidentally_  the direction they came from, so she actually went out of her way to have this conversation with him. "I have to go. Gaia is looking for me."

He nods, understanding, and she almost turns, but then pauses, worrying her lip. Small, shy all of a sudden, she tries, "Hey, Bellamy?"

"Yeah?" He freezes, hand on door handle.

"You do have my permission, okay?" She discloses, softly, then her eyes narrow sharply. "But if you  _hurt_ her —"

He's still not sure what she's actually giving him permission for, or — yeah, he does know, he just wants to pretend he doesn't. It's complicated. It's not like he doesn't want to. There's  _other_ factors at play here, too, other people's feelings. At least, it's good to now, that, if she feels the way he did, if she still does, if the timing is ever right — Madi would be okay with it.

He grins, squinting at her through his eyes as he guesses, "You'll channel the 12 commanders and find the most painful way to kill me?"

She purses her lips in consideration. "I was going to say I'll break your hand, but that sounds good too."

"Go," he says, laughing, shaking his head as he watches her skip off, waving at him over her shoulder.

* * *

**11.16.2151**

**03:02 AM**

**User-ID: B. Blake**

**File 02_11348-BC**

_I didn't deserve you. Raven made a crack about it every five seconds, but it was true. You were perfect. You were there when I needed you the most. When I was at my darkest, you were there. A light, guiding me through it. Making me feel like there was still a point to it all._

_If a girl like_ you  _could love_ me _? Anything was possible. Back on the Ark, I was afraid to talk to you. You were kind. And strong. Smart, and funny. God, so funny. Gorgeous. The most gorgeous girl I'd ever seen. And your special mixed drinks? Monty was_ so  _jealous. You changed the whole moonshine game. [...] You never judged me. You always listened. You weren't afraid to tell me when I was wrong._

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry that my darkness ended up swallowing you whole. I'm sorry for trusting her. I'm sorry for letting you die alone. I was so_ —  _I was so_ angry.  _I did things. Things you wouldn't be proud of me for. Things I'm not proud of myself for. That I wish I could take back. [...] So many things I'd take back. I'm not good on my own, Gina. I'm not._

_I still see your smile, sometimes, when I close my eyes at night. [...] Your beautiful, special smile. That I was lucky enough, to at one time be on the receiving end of it._

_Gina. Thank you. You saved me, and I wish_ —  _everyday I wish_   _I could've done the same for you._

* * *

She's sitting on his bed as soon as he opens the door. He curses himself mentally, closing the door softly behind him. Not that she looks up. He'd hoped she'd be somewhere else, even if it's  _their_ room, technically.

He sits down beside her, the bed dipping under his weight. Her balled fists are resting on the bed beside her, her face turned to the side, away from him. She stares at nothing, forehead crinkled. "Is that how you really feel?"

He opens his mouth, closes it soundlessly. He's not sure what video she is talking about. Her own, or — Or. It doesn't matter. He tries to touch her shoulder, but she jerks it away.

"Is it?" She snaps harshly when he doesn't answer, head turning sharply to face him. Her eyes are red. She's hurt. She has every right to be.

He doesn't know what to say. How to make it right. If he should even try to. He tries to take her hand off the bed, but she pushes his away, turning her head away again as tears spring in her eyes. "You couldn't even say you loved me."

"That's not true —" He defends himself, more to protect her feelings than to be genuine with her. He doesn't know why he's never said it, why he could never bring himself to.

"Then say it," Echo spits, shifting back to look at him, eyes narrowed. "Fucking say it, Bellamy." When he doesn't speak, again, she laughs, humourless, a short sound, shaking her head. She's not done, he can't tell she isn't, so he stays quiet. "Because I took it, like the good little spy I am." She pushes herself off the bed, sliding her hands over the sides of her head before connecting them at the back of it. "I took it for two  _goddamn_ years because I thought you weren't ready. That you needed time." Her jaw tightens, and she drops her hands, letting them hang limply at her side. "Or I tried to convince myself that you physically couldn't say because of —  _whatever_  reason." She throws up a hand, and a single tear rolls down her cheek as she angrily exclaims, hurt in her voice, "But here you are, throwing I love you's around to everyone  _but_  me."

"I —" he starts, stammering. He wishes he could say something. He wishes he could come up with something to take all that pain away, right now. That he could think of a single thing to say that would make it right.

Sometimes he thinks what he had with Gina was more an idea, than it was reality. Over the years, her romanticized her, romanticized what they were. She could have been a great love, his  _greatest_  love, but he never got that with her. Echo took that away — she played part in taking that away. In turn, what he had with Echo was for some part, punishment. He felt like he deserved to be with her, for what he had done. Deserved to torture himself. Over the years, of course —  _of course_  he liked her, loved her even. Echo is loyal, and adaptive, and straight-forward, she cares about him. She was a reality that didn't live up to the idea he had by then. The idea of what someone he loved would be like. Nobody could. He left her behind. She was dead.

Only, as it turns out, she wasn't.

He could tell her things didn't change when they went back to the ground, that they wouldn't, but in the end, they did.

"I'm not a project you can fix, Bellamy," she exclaims, but it's quieter, more composed. Hurt replaced with anger, humiliation.

"I wasn't trying to fix you," he argues, no heat. It's the least he owes her. Honesty. "I think I was trying to — fix myself. At first. Deep down I think I felt if I could forgive you, I was doing better. I was paying it forward. Moving on." It's painfully quiet. He presses, one more time, like it changes anything, "I  _did_ forgive you."

She lets out a shaky breath, shaking her head again as she presses her palms against her eyes. After a moment, she takes them off, striding closer to him. She tilts her head, eyes softening, hint of a smile on her lips, "I love you —  _so_ much." She sniffs, looking up at the ceiling, to keep from crying, he guesses. Then she looks straight at him, gaze hardened, voice unwavering, "But me and you are done. For good."

It's not unexpected. It's not a sudden blow. For him it had been over for a while. Ever since he found out she was alive. He tried to push it down, tried to remind himself they were different people now, tried to tell himself she didn't feel the same way. Then Madi told him about the radio calls and — what was he supposed to think? He wouldn't have done anything about it, he was still a coward when it came to her. But the videos, they're here now. And he did mean what he said. The good, the bad, the ugly.

He nods, swallowing thickly. He feels like he should say more. Apologize. Tell her it wasn't her, it was him. Something lame like that, a bandaid for a bullet hole, but more. More than this.

She beats him to it. "Now she can have it, right? I was just a placekeeper."

"Echo —"

"Get out," she whimpers, turning away from, doesn't want him to see her cry. Louder, she repeats, motioning at the door, "Get out."

And he does.

* * *

**09.24.2155**

**11:02 AM**

**User-ID: B. Blake**

**File 02_11348-BC**

_Echo. I think we're going to the ground sometime soon, once Raven can make it work, which we all know she will. These videos will be lost, and it wouldn't feel right to conclude these without one for you as well. I would've never expected this when I first started out, but. You belong on the list._

_The truth is — my entire life I've had to protect other people. Mostly my mom and Octavia, but then on the ground I had my people. All hundred of them. You had yours, or you had your honor, and that's why I hated you. Because you protecting your people usually meant mine had to die._

_I hated you for betraying me when I saved you. But mostly — mostly for Gina, because she didn't deserve what happened to her. I hated you for what you did to her._

_Then up here, I no longer had anyone to protect. Nothing to protect them from. Not anything up my street, anyway. There was just you, and how everyone hated you. The outsider. The girl who blew up Mount Weather and killed people we love. I felt like — like I could protect you. From them. From yourself._

_I think about it a lot. Down on earth, when I walked in you — in on you... many times I wished I had just let you do it. I wish you could've taken Clarke's place, instead. That she could have yours._

_I'm glad I didn't. All that time, I used you as my punching bag. You were one of them. One of the only ones of them, left for me to villainize. For you to blame my own wrongdoings on. Everything that happened with the Grounder army, with Pike, I told myself it was your fault. You took it. And you kept taking it. And slowly, I realized that in the end you were not your mistakes. That if I gave myself another chance — after everything I did, all the blood on my hands — I owed the same to you. I'm glad I did._

* * *

He has nowhere else to go. It's near dinner time, most of everyone trying to get to or from the mess hall. He debates crashing in Raven's quarter until most of the crowd disperses, but apparently her and Zeke weren't planning to go out to eat. His next choice, also not an option. There's loud, indecipherable yelling coming from behind the door. He's learned the hard way to never walk into an Emori and Murphy fight if you don't have an active dead wish.

Eventually he decides to just suck it up and face the ship's entire population. It's not them he's worried about anyway.

He walks into the mess hall, hearing it before he sees it. " _I should have dragged you back into the ship myself._ " His video is playing on the big announcement screen in the middle of the mess hall. He checks the room, trying to find whoever is ruining his life, bringing back his worst memories, but all he sees is people watching him, watching the screen. They barely even notice he's there. They're too transfixed on his pain, on his darkness, his trauma. He feels a little sick.

He stands there, frozen in place, as his eye falls on Clarke. Because she's sitting right there, beside Madi, tray with algae in front of her, half-empty. He catches her gaze, pulse rattling loudly. "B _ecause in my dreams, you're there. You're Clarke. You're up here, with me. Or I'm down there, with you. We're never apart."_ Her expression unreadable, and it's like his brain suddenly jumps back into action.

He breaks off his gaze, instead coming face to face with a younger version of himself as he stalks closer to the screen. The younger version — he looks horrible. Bags under his eyes, which are bloodshot, his hair a mess, a light stubble on his jaw. His knuckles are bruised, split open, and he doesn't recall why he'd done it before that exact moment, just remembers punching a lot of walls those days. He was angry, hurt, grieving.

" _I never got to tell you_ —  _I never got to tell you I love you._ " He finds the wiring at the back of the screen, yanking on it, hard. Just to make it stop. Blood is rushing to his ears, chest heaving up and down heavily. He yanks again. " _You know in what way. I know you_ —" The words, his words, they stop. They were never supposed to be heard by anyone else, were just supposed to be lost forever.

He turns back around, and he's acutely aware he looks like a lunatic, standing there, ripped wires in his hand as he looks around the mess hall.

"I told you you went too far," Emori mumbles, and when Bellamy turns his head towards the sound, she's standing there with Murphy, arms crossed over her chest.

"You did this?" He accuses, turning towards them completely, his nostrils flaring.

"Yeah," Murphy admits, nonchalant, and Bellamy strides closer, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. He's not even sure what he's going to do; punch him, tell him to go fuck himself? Both sound good to him right now.

Instead, before he can decide, Emori swats his hands down, throwing herself in between them. She juts her chin out, but her tone is matter-of-factly, insistent, "I helped him." She tilts her head slightly. "It was a last request."

Her words are like a slap in the face. He swallows thickly, his stomach churning. Lowly, he checks, "Harper and Monty?"

"Yeah," she says, softer, eyes flicking over to black screen. Bellamy's heart skips a beat at the admittal. She scoffs, elbowing her boyfriend in the ribs, hard. "Although John would've done it just for the drama."

His shoulders deflate, he can't be mad at the two of them when it was something Monty and Harper asked them to do. It's such a Greens thing to do, making sure he couldn't be mad at anyone  _but_ them, knowing they're not here and he can't  _really_ be mad at them. They thought it was the right thing. Whatever happened to the ends not justifying the means? All those years alone made them stone cold. He still feels like punching someone, but it's less an all-consuming urge and more an underlying want. He sighs instead, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And you?"

"Harper was my first real friend. It's what they wanted," Emori muses, genuine, a reminiscent look in her eyes. She holds up a USB, eyebrows raised. "This is all the footage." He takes it, tentatively, looking at it like it's a foreign object. Such a small little thing, changing so much, holding so much power. Emori covers his shoulder with her hand briefly, lowering her voice, "I think you should talk to her."

He nods, pensive, as they walk away to go stand in line, arguing under their breaths like nothing happened. Dreadfully, he walks over to Madi and Clarke's table. The brat is smirking.

"Hey," Bellamy manages to say, voice rough. He literally feels like dying on the spot. It's bad enough he has to do this. Let alone publicly. He clears his throat, awkwardly. "Can we talk?"

Clarke's chewing on her mouthful of algae, nodding as she swallows hastily. Her eyes are wide, avoiding his gaze. She pushes herself up from the table, cupping Madi's chin briefly before nodding her head towards the door. He follows her. They end up back at the bridge. Most people are still at dinner, or know better than to interrupt the two of them right now, so it's relatively quiet.

"So," she starts after a moment of silence, standing beside him as they stare out of the window. Her hands are wrapped around the railing, knuckles white.

"So," he concludes, heart beating loudly against his ribcage as he crosses his arms over his chest. He's really going to have to say it, huh? Like he, and former him, haven't done enough talking for the day.

Clarke shifts her head to look at him, worrying her bottom lip, blue eyes finding his easily, sheepish, almost. A lock of hair falls from behind her ear because of the movement. His fingers twitch at his side. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, swallowing heavily, trying to get his throat to feel less scratchy. Her breath hitches, lips parting slightly.

* * *

**01.01.2153**

**04:09 AM**

**User-ID: B. Blake**

**File 02_11348-BC**

_Clarke. I've thought about this a lot. I wasn't quite sure what to say. Sorry it took me a while. I figured it was time now. I figured you should get one of these, too. It's the least I owe you. I mean, you had this whole speech prepared and I was so busy convincing you we'd be fine, you'd be fine, we'd be together in space soon, I didn't realize it was goodbye._

_What I should've said, what I should've done — I should have dragged you back into the ship myself. I didn't. Instead I wake up every night, covered in sweat, out of my mind, paralyzed from fear. Most days, I go to bed knowing you're dead, and for some reason, every morning, for a few sleep-hazed seconds, I forget. The remembering is the worst part._

_[...] For a while — I lived to sleep. I took the bad with the good, the night terrors with the dreams because the dreams — God. Because in my dreams, you're there. You're Clarke. You're up here, with me. Or I'm down there, with you. We're never apart._

_I think about what ifs a lot, the what ifs that might have changed the outcome of our story, that might have kept you alive. Keeping you alive. [...] That was my job, wasn't it? I fucked up. I fucked up so badly._

_I never got to tell you_ —  _I never got to tell you I love you. You know in what way. I know you do. That's why you never let me say it. Do you remember? That time on the beach., my heart was pounding so loud I was sure you could hear. When I said_ Clarke, if I don't see you again —  _and you cut me off, saying you would, that was the moment I decided I should keep it myself. That you didn't want to hear it. That you weren't ready. Because what I wanted to say, more than anything, was that I admire you. I can never stay angry with you. That I think you're stupid, and brave, and reckless with your own life. That you should take better care of yourself. That you're stubborn, and you_ never  _listen, and you overthink_ everything _. You're also beautiful, and caring, and_ pretty  _badass._

_It feels good to finally say it. I love you. I just do. I just, I love you. And I've been trying not to feel it. I've been trying so hard to just ignore it, and push it down, and not feel it. Trying so hard to stop. I've tried to move on, I've tried to do what you, what you told me, tried to make you proud. But I'm going through the motions. I feel so numb, all the time. Using just my head_ —  _not your best advice, Clarke. God, none of this makes any sense. I'm going a little crazy, I think. I can't eat, I can't sleep, some day I can barely breathe. I can't_ —  _I can't think. I didn't think I'd survive losing you, but I did. I did. I'm here. God, I'm here. I feel like I'm suffocating all the time._

_I love you_ —  _loved you._

_And I wish that was true. I wish it wasn't some bullshit I tell myself everyday to make myself feel better. Because I do, I do still love you. Present tense. I will always love you. And it kills me_ —  _kills me, knowing you died for us. For me. You should be the one up here. You should be_ —  _here. Alive._

_I'll make sure you didn't die in vain. I'll make sure_ —  _I'll make sure._

* * *

"You know I actually made a bet with Raven?" He speaks first, because he kind of feels like he has to. He has a lot to explain, doesn't he? It's easier to start somewhere less heavy, build up to it, give her a chance to back-out if she wants to. Bellamy manages a half-hearted grin. "Well, I never agreed but you know her."

"What was it about?" Clarke humours him, corners of her mouth turning up tentatively.

This is it. All or nothing.

"When we went up to space and I thought you were dead, I was wrecked. Raven told me I wasn't grieving a friend, or a best friend," he pauses, gauging the expression on her face. There's a slight pinch in between her brows, but besides that, it's pretty much unreadable. He takes a deep breath, coming out with it, "She said I was in love with you. I called her crazy. She told me — she said that one day everything would click into place, and I'd realize too."

Clarke inhales sharply. "Did she win?"

He scrubs a hand over his beard, because she's impossible, then rasps, pathetic, "You saw the video right?"

(It's rhetorical. He knows she did. Everybody on this goddamn ship and their mother saw it. She sat there, in the mess hall, just now, enjoying her second showing.)

She nods, slowly, still looking at the new planet like he isn't standing beside her making a fool out of himself. Quietly, she wonders, "Did she?"

"Echo?" He checks, confused. She flinches slightly, so he elaborates, running a hand through his hair, tugging on it slightly. "Yeah. She did, yeah." He hesitates — but the need to get any sort of reaction from her, just anything at all beats out his primal urge for self-preservation — adding, softly, "We broke up."

Her head snaps to look at him, finally, and he doesn't know — he's afraid to guess, but it looks a whole lot like hope flashes across her eyes. His stomach swoops in anticipation. Clarke opens her mouth, closes it soundlessly. Finally, she says, "I thought you wanted to talk to let me down easy."

Relief washes over him, like a rainfall after years of drought, warmth blooming all across his chest as his heart tries to break free from his ribcage.

"I did say you never listen," he teases, but he's close to crying. Like he hasn't done that enough today. He also said he would  _always_  love her.

"I thought maybe — maybe things changed," Clarke reasons, eyes searching his face almost frantically, like she's trying to find evidence he's joking, or lying, or possibly insane. "That after all those years, of you thinking about what ifs and could've haves, the real thing paled in comparison."

He scoffs, humoured, does she seriously not get that how much he loves her has nothing to do with how much he might or might not  _like_  her at some times. "Trust me, that's the farthest thing from what happened."

She looks uncertain, still, so he elaborates, tongue dipping out to wet his lips habitually. "Even after everything that happened since I found out you were alive, everything that went wrong between us, you're still — you're still just Clarke to me. The same girl who told me I was needed, the same girl who left me to die in a pit. I can take the bad with the good, the night terrors with the dreams, because — the good, it outweighs  _everything_."

Clarke gulps, stepping closer to him, turning her whole body towards his, folding one hand over his chest like she's trying it out. Something weird happens to him; an odd combination of cold and warmth, almost making him shiver at the intensity of the feeling. His stomach rolls, his heart beats faster, his head pounds heavily.

She leans up, closing the final distance between their mouths, lips pressing against his. He can't breathe. Time stops, his brain is frozen, all he is aware of is her; the way her eyelashes dip, eyes fluttering to a close, the soft feel of her mouth, the way she smells.

He breathes harshly, pressing closer to her, the floor beneath them groaning in protest. Bellamy takes her bottom lip with his, hands instinctively coming up to palm her face, thumbs resting on her skin gingerly. She sighs softly into his mouth at the touch, her fingers coming up to wrap around his wrists.

Hastily, she loops her arms around his neck, the kiss deepening, a small amount of urgency gripping Bellamy — like somehow this might still be the last chance they ever get to do this, like she might suddenly realize what she's doing, or the ground might burn to ashes right underneath their feet again. There's a slight height difference, but he makes up for it by bending down a little, pressing her flush against him, a light moan escaping her lips. It's fucking amazing —  _she_ 's amazing.

Spurred on by her response, he presses her back against the railing. She pulls him closer, drinking in every bit of him. His hands start to roam around her body, his nerves tingling with every touch, making him worry he might explode as it builds and builds, like an inferno rising. It's almost too much.

They hear loud whispering, hurried footsteps, someone clearing their throat discretionarily, and remembering where they are, they break apart, all shy glances and nervous breath laughter. He catches her gaze eventually, her pupils dilated, lips swollen and wet, sense of awe covering her. He's sure he looks the same.

He puts his arm around her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. She hides her face in his neck, briefly, then mutters, "I love you, too."

Bellamy can't help but kiss her again, mouth moving over hers, responding to her slightest of movements to keep maximum contact. His hand travels up her back slowly, tracing her spine until he reaches the nape of her neck, using it to keep her close as her fingers tighten her grasp on his shirt. Eventually, he kisses get shorter and smaller, and he pulls back with a crushing disappointment.

"God," he breathes, brushing some hair back from her forehead leisurely with his free hand. "Monty and Harper really suck."

"They're the worst," she concedes with a beam, adjusting her head to rest it against his shoulder, shifting it to look back out of the window, very reminiscent of the first time they heard about Sanctum, just a few weeks ago.

Tomorrow, they're going to go down to the new planet and have a fresh start. They're going to do better. (They'll see how it goes.) Today, he got a second chance. Not just being, but also  _feeling_  alive. He's not going to waste it.

.

**Author's Note:**

> [hmu](http://www.safeands0und13.tumblr.com) or [here](http://www.twitter.com/captaindaddykru) if you want to yell, prompt me, or do a bellamy and clarke as marvel superheroes thread together. clarke as iron man anyone with bellamy as pepper? bellamy as captain america and clarke as the winter soldier? lmao.. get it...bc the ship is **** af!!!! yeah, endgame got me good sisters


End file.
